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"H.M.S. Guardian, Dec. 25, 1789. "If any part of the officers or crew of the Guardian should ever survive to get home, I have only to say their conduct, after the fatal stroke against an island of ice, was admirable and wonderful in everything that relates to their duty, considered either as private men, or in His Majesty's service.
From the very first stroke of the pick, Abbe Peyramale, the parish priest of Lourdes, went on directing everything with even excessive zeal, for the struggle had made him the most ardent and most sincere of all believers in the work that was to be accomplished.
Where the shadow of the church ended, the moon poured its silvery light in a broad flood over the street, and further off painted, with, a bold stroke of the brush, a glittering streak of white light across the sea, away to the semi-transparent mists on the horizon.
One extraordinary stroke I quickly detected. The jolly-boat had lain stowed in the long-boat; it was thus we carried those boats, the little one lying snugly enough in the other.
"I know, I know," said the older man, "I know the kind of fellow you are the kind women love to fuss around. I'll bet you get dozens of bedroom slippers and ties and mufflers at Christmas. Women are like cats they love to rub their heads against any one that will stroke them and say 'poor pussy' they're all the same."
"There's trouble agen, up at Kit's," remarked Eli, finishing his stroke with a jerk, and speaking for the general benefit, though the words were particularly addressed to a drover opposite. "Ho?" said the drover: "that woman agen?" The passengers, one and all, bent their eyes on the man in black, who smeared his face with his cuff, and began weeping afresh, silently.
I pat his nose and stroke him over the eyes. It is impossible to be other than good friends with an animal which carries you ten hours a day for several months. In the morning he comes up to my tent, pushes his nose under the door-flap, and thrusts his shaggy head into the tent, which is not large, and is almost filled up when he comes on a visit.
The fall of a great tree in a forest preaches its sermon, but not with half the poignancy of a noble mast which men who love their vessel are compelled to cast overboard. As the axes rose and fell it seemed to me as if their every stroke dealt me a hurt at the heart.
Where is the despatch-box?" "Still in his bedroom." "What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!" A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand. "How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of course you have. Open it!" From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers.
He was something of a wag, the old Squire; and nothing came handier to him, in the way of a joke, than a joke at his own expense. When he was eighty years old, he had a stroke of paralysis: he lived six years after that; but he could not walk about the farm any longer.
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